


the party don't start till i walk out

by renyoi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Horny Keith (Voltron), Horny Lance (Voltron), Introvert Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Party, and yet theres no extrovert lance....oppression, lmaoooo, that's a tag lmao, these tags are so fucking funny. holy shit, these tags make it sound more sexual than it is fkjdskgfhds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28486992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renyoi/pseuds/renyoi
Summary: Keith decides that he'soverthe stupid party Lance dragged him to, but Lance seems insistent on staying and socializing. If Keith wants to leave, he'll have to figure out how to distract his boyfriend in other ways—make him desperate to go home. Keith is very much up to the challenge.based onthis postby @candyklances on tumblr!
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 120





	the party don't start till i walk out

**Author's Note:**

> this was part of my klancemas series, for the prompt "party"! i decided it was good/long enough to edit and bring back as it's own fanfiction :) hope u enjoy!

Keith has been over this stupid party for, oh, about an hour now. Actually, scratch that. From the moment Keith stepped through the door of this ridiculously expensive, I’m-rich-and-white-and-better-than-you mansion to fucking Halsey blasting through the speakers and the smell of weed making his nostrils flare, he has been over this party. Done. _Finished._

It’s a damn shame that Lance is his ride here.

(Keith knows how to hotwire a car. Lance knows that Keith knows how to hotwire a car. Lance purposefully made Keith get out of his car a block away from where he was going to park, just so Keith wouldn’t know how to get to his car and, subsequently, wouldn’t be able to hotwire the car. Keith is angry, and the second Lance leaves him alone with his car again, he’s hotwiring it. Fuck him.)

Despite his hissed objections from the moment that first scent of weed hit his nose, Lance has done nothing but give him a reassuring, albeit slightly apologetic, pat on the arm—and then gone right back to talking with whatever boring person he’s talking to at the time. Keith can barely remember why they’re here; he thinks this is one of Marco’s friends’ houses? And they were, like, invited, and Lance finds it impossible to refuse an invitation to a party, no matter how little he knows about the person throwing it?

Something like that. Keith took one (1) shot and his brain started feeling fuzzy, so he’s not exactly sure. And he’s bored—which makes it hard to remember things.

Things like why the hell he lets Lance get him into situations like this, situations that he _vehemently_ despises and hates every minute of. _In fact,_ Keith thinks loftily, pushing himself off the wall he’s been leaning against for the better half of fifteen minutes, _I’ve been here long enough. Fuck this._

Fuck this.

Keith locates Lance easily because, to his credit, he never wanders too far from Keith, never far enough to where Keith can’t see him. Right now, he’s talking to a very pretty goth girl (Keith’s jealousy flares up) and the girl standing next to the pretty goth girl, who she’s holding hands with ( _oh_ —Keith’s jealousy sulks away, embarrassed). Keith takes a brief moment to wonder _why_ cool and pretty goth girls are at _this_ horrible party, and then makes his way toward the three of them, sidling up next to Lance as inconspicuously as he can.

“—really likes knives, so you guys might get alo—Keith!” Lance pulls Keith closer, because inconspicuous is not his forte. Keith groans internally. “We were just talking about you. Verona here likes knives too!”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Verona? Like, Shakespeare-Verona?”

“Only the 1996 one,” the goth girl replies coolly, meeting his gaze with indifference. Keith nods slowly.

“Yeah. I love that one.”

They share a moment of understanding. Lance and Verona’s girlfriend glance at each other.

“Ooo _ookay_ ,” Lance intervenes, cutting Keith’s impromptu staring contest off. He shakes himself, brings himself back to the reality where young people don’t speak Shakespeare and drive Ferraris while monologuing about how much they suffer under their mobster parents’ harsh rules.

And, like, LSD? What the hell was 1996 _Romeo and Juliet_ , anyway?

Lance is back to talking about who-knows-what, and Keith’s bored again. His miniature standoff with that girl had distracted him, but now his plan pops back into his head with ease, and he remembers why he left his safe little corner in the first place.

Snaking a hand around Lance’s waist, Keith begins stroking gently at Lance’s skin, pressing the pads of his fingers into the fabric of Lance’s shirt, feeling the warmth radiate from his body. Lance doesn’t stumble at all; that’s fine, Keith hadn’t really expected him to, not from innocent touches like these.

Of course he hadn’t been planning to stop here. Who is he if not a daring rogue of adventure-seeking dissent, prone to impulsivity and brazen rashness?

…Keith really needs to stop taking words from Coran’s many monologues. He doesn’t even know what most of them _mean._

Ever so slowly, Keith drops his hand lower, curling his fingers around Lance’s hipbones with a simmer of delighted satisfaction—oh, how he loves Lance’s hips. Gorgeous, razor-sharp, perfect V-line, _yes._ Pointing right to the _best part_ , Lance’s hips are. Incredible. He thumbs lazy circles into them, and is treated to a small, nearly unnoticeable stutter in Lance’s speech—the women he’s talking to probably didn’t notice it, but Keith, who’s looking out for it, certainly did, and it solidifies his path, reassuring him that he’s going in the right direction.

So, he drops lower, hand ghosting Lance’s thigh. Lance twitches perceptively.

“Actually, I, uh, kind of have to go to the bathroom. I’ll catch you guys later, I hope?” Lance interrupts the conversation, voice strangely high-pitched and distracted. Keith can’t help but smile a little—and raise a gloved hand to wave mockingly at the women as they shrug and leave. _Success._

Once they’re fully out of sight, Lance rounds on Keith immediately, expression caught between irritation and interest. “What was _that,_ Keith?”

“What was what?” Keith replies, clasping his hands behind him innocently. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were _touching me_ , Kogane.” Lance jabs a finger into Keith’s chest. Uncalled for, in Keith’s opinion, but whatever keeps him calm. “Stop it.”

“I can’t stop something I wasn’t doing.”

“ _Keith_ —” Lance cuts himself off, heaves a heavy sigh. “Whatever. I have to keep talking to people, Keith, I want to get to know my cousin’s friends.”

_Cousin. It was his cousin,_ Keith thinks, nodding to himself in understanding. He knew it was some offshoot relation of Lance’s, at least… “Yeah, sure, do whatever you gotta do.”

Lance narrows his eyes, clearly not trusting a word that’s coming out of Keith’s mouth which, to be fair, is pretty smart of him. Pidge would be proud.

He puts two fingers to his eyes and then points them at Keith in the universal _I’m-watching-you_ gesture. Keith gives him a deadpan stare in response.

“I’m watching,” Lance says, as if his gesture wasn’t perfectly clear. Keith rolls his eyes, but deigns Lance with a nod. He’s gotta keep him off the scent, after all. “Very closely.”

“Yeah, yeah, go be an extrovert,” Keith yawns, slinking away back to his dark corner. “I’ll be here.” _Dying. Waiting._

With a final, extremely unnerved look, Lance gives Keith a singular nod and then traipses away, on to the next conversation he apparently “needs” to have.

Keith allows himself a small smile. Phase 1, complete. Now he just needs to catch Lance sitting down.

* * *

_Yes!_

Keith cheers in his mind when, after spending a rather long time eyeing the spot like a Sim being blocked by invisible Internet code glitches, Lance finally allows himself to settle into the single plush armchair in the room, continuing his conversation with the enthusiastic guy wearing a _Beatles_ shirt from there. Thank _god._

Now, Keith can make his second, hopefully knockout (or close to) move. Pushing himself off the wall he’s been leaning against for the better half of fifteen minutes (it’s a _different wall_ this time, okay?), he glides toward Lance and, not so much as letting him get a hasty greeting out beforehand, plops himself soundly onto his lap.

Ah. Keith’s favorite seat.

Lance stutters, lets out an aborted “hey—!” and then turns an apologetic look to the _Beatles_ guy.

“This, uh, is my boyfriend, Keith,” Lance says awkwardly, gesturing to the whole of his lap. Keith raises a single hand in greeting, uninterested.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” the guy says, startling Keith slightly with his energy. “Do you like the _Beatles_?”

Keith levels the guy with a firm, bored stare. “Who are the _Beatles_?”

Lance slaps a hand to his forehead. The guy gasps, inhaling such a large amount of air that Keith is _sure_ he’s going to have hiccups later, and then raises a hand like he’s about to go on a tirade. Keith huffs. Boring. It’s time for Phase 2.

He situates himself in Lance’s lap _very_ purposefully, positioning his ass _right_ over the outline of Lance’s (giant, gorgeous, amazing) dick. Lance jerks a little but doesn’t do anything else, doesn’t so much as give Keith a look, so he probably thinks it was unintentional. Fine. Keith will be more _intentional._

As the guy starts talking about the _Beatles_ — ”The _Beatles_ were an English rock band formed in Liverpool in 1960. The group, whose best-known lineup comprised John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr, are regarded as the most influential band of all time. They were integral to—,” Keith slowly shifts, pushing his ass further on Lance’s lap and ever so slightly grinding down, using his body to stimulate Lance in a way he knows he can’t ignore.

Lance _squeaks._ It’s loud enough that _Beatles_ guy actually shuts up for a second, confused.

Keith grins roguishly.

“S-Sorry, just, uh,” Lance stammers, clearly searching for an explanation, “I didn’t know they were called ‘the fab four!’ That’s wild! Hah!”

Keith really, _really_ wants to collapse into laughter, but he schools his face into neutrality, not wanting to have this all come crashing down because he couldn’t hold it together. Beatles guy looks a little confused, but he takes the explanation in stride, reorienting his lecture into a history of lingo used to refer to the _Beatles._ It’s just as boring as the first speech, so Keith decides to up the ante; he keeps grinding onto Lance in slow, methodical movements, and then drapes his hands around Lance’s neck, stroking around the nape and dipping near his collarbones, touchy and close. It’s because he’s so close that he feels Lance swallow thickly, and it’s because he’s sitting on top of him that he feels Lance when Lance presses his legs together.

_Perfect._

“I’m, uh—can I cut you off, Kevin? Sorry,” Lance says in a rush, cheeks flushing rapidly. Beatles guy stops abruptly and blinks a lot, as if coming out of a daze. “I actually, uh, I have to, uh, go to the bathroom. So. I’ll see you some other time?”

Keith just _has_ to laugh at Lance using the same lame excuse to get away from this conversation as he did the last one, but he hides it by pressing his face into Lance’s neck, which functions both as a cover for his laughter _and_ as a handy method of breathing onto Lance’s throat, which Keith _knows_ drives him crazy. It hits the spot; Lance gasps and then shivers, all the while awkwardly shooing the guy away, even as he makes no attempt to get up from the chair he’s seated in.

Beatles guy, looking a bit miffed, finally leaves, and Lance is instantly pushing at Keith, trying to get him off of his lap.

“You’re _sabotaging me_ ,” he hisses as he does, elbowing Keith rather painfully in the side. “Get off, get off!”

“But I wasn’t—”

Keith ends up on the floor, looking like an angry cat. Lance stands above him, breathing heavily and, Keith notes with glee, hastily pulling his shirt further down, most definitely attempting to cover a certain something that’s popping up right now. It’s that knowledge that keeps Keith from raging at Lance—well, that and the fact that Keith hadn’t given him much of a choice other than pushing him off, so he can’t really blame him.

“You,” Lance declares, pointing at Keith as he stands and dusts himself off, “are a fiend. I can’t—I have more people I need to talk to!”

“Do you _actually,_ though?” Keith asks shortly, folding his arms. “I feel like you’re making this responsibility up in your head.”

“I—No, I’m not!” Well, that was _thoroughly_ unconvincing. “I just—I _have_ to, I feel like my cousin’ll be mad if I don’t, so that’s what I’m trying to do. And you’re not _helping._ ”

“Lance…” Keith lets the tiniest bit of a whine enter his voice as he steps closer to Lance, tugging him forward by the collar of his shirt. Lance’s eyes go all big and he breathes a shaky breath. “C’mon, I don’t want to be here anymore, there are _so_ many other things we could be—“

“Nope!” Lance wrenches himself away and spins around, covering his ears. Keith blinks in surprise. “Nope, nope, I can’t hear you. I’m not listening. I’m gonna go over there and get a drink, now, Keith, so, just—bye! See you!”

And he dashes away, leaving Keith standing there and feeling like the damn Beatles guy.

Well. Phase 3 it is, then.

* * *

This time, Keith doesn’t wait against walls that he has to push himself off of after standing there for the better half of fifteen minutes. He’s tired of waiting. This time, Keith is hunting his boyfriend down, staying in the shadows of wherever Lance goes, looking out for a free moment and a dark corner—the only two things he needs to pull this off.

Because Phase 3? Phase 3 should be a K.O. If Keith has any knowledge of Lance McClain, this will be a complete knockout in the exact way the other one wasn’t. He’s certain of it.

Like, 93% certain. 95% after he catches Lance adjusting his shirt and jeans _again_ , after he’d just adjusted them a few minutes ago. That definitely means something.

Right now, Lance is making his way across the makeshift dance floor, which is still somehow playing Halsey music, just to piss Keith off. No matter, though; Keith’s secured a tiny dark corner, and fortunately for him, Lance seems to be heading _directly_ that way.

Keith unbuttons the top button of his shirt. Showtime.

“Hey, Lance,” Keith says, snagging Lance’s arm and pulling him into the aforementioned corner, dark and private. He slides his other hand up to Lance’s neck. “How are you?”

“ _Keith_.” Lance’s tone sounds anguished, pleading—like he’s already half gone. Keith smirks a little and presses himself closer to Lance, shivering when he feels the hard length against his thigh.

“I didn’t have to do that much,” Keith says pointedly, leaning forward and hiding in Lance’s neck. He presses a kiss onto it, savoring the hot, salty taste of Lance’s skin. Lance squirms.

“Of course you didn’t,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re _you_ , you never have to— _ah—!”_

Lance slaps a hand against his mouth to hide the noise he’s making as Keith licks and nips at his neck, teethes at his earlobe, and snakes a hand down to press his palm against Lance’s cock, tracing the outline of it with his thumb.

“I want you,” Keith murmurs, lips still pressed against Lance’s neck. Lance gives a sharp intake of breath. “Really badly. I want to go home, I want you to bend me over the kitchen counter, spread wide for you, and I want you to fuck me hard and deep until I’m a shuddering mess, so full of you that I can barely walk—”

_“Fuck_!”

With a defeated groan, Lance yanks himself away from Keith and, just like that, stomps in the opposite direction. Keith, blinking and confused, pulls his shirt further down and curiously starts to follow, unsure whether to be offended or not.

Well, that question is answered the moment Lance returns clutching both their coats, his jaw set. He thrusts Keith’s at him, and Keith takes it, bewildered.

“You better keep that promise,” Lance hisses, and then he pulls Keith close and kisses him hard and dirty. Realizing he’s won, Keith returns the kiss with delighted gusto, swirling his tongue around Lance’s and licking at Lance’s lips after he pulls away.

“I plan to,” Keith says, unable to wipe the victorious smile from his face. He starts walking toward the door, then, tugging Lance with him by the sleeve. “Let’s go, loverboy. We have better things to be doing.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :) if u wanna chat, you can find me [here](https://klancey.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and if you'd like to support me/my work, [buy me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/renyoi/)! oh, and happy new year!


End file.
